


You Don't Think He's Pulled Brian Molko?

by evilmaniclaugh



Series: The Molko Diaries [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Gender Confusion, Gender Issues, M/M, Modern AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2722154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern day AU set in London around 2004 where Porthos and Aramis are 20 and Athos is 23. Ninon is 35.</p>
<p>Part four of the learning curve of modern day, sexually repressed, drunk!Athos with guyliner. In this episode, Porthos and Aramis are disturbed by a loud noise and panicked by a stranger. Athos explores his gender issues with Ninon, and, later, tries to explain things to the boys. There is some use of sex toys and less use of the word cunt.</p>
<p>
  <i>When it happens, it’s just another dry press of lips, but this time it’s intended, and Porthos can almost hear the clicks and whirs of a complex, mechanical lock as it begins to turn anticlockwise.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Think He's Pulled Brian Molko?

What is that noise? thinks Porthos as he makes coffee. Pouring out two cups, leaving the third in the pot, he carries them through into the living room. "Aramis, what are you doing in there?" he yells. "Putting on your make up with a jack-hammer?"

"I'm right here, you prat," Aramis says, grinning at him from the couch, where he's engrossed in Jeanette Winterson. "The banging is coming from upstairs." As if this was in any way unclear, he points at the ceiling.

"But the only person who lives above us is..." Porthos gapes in awe at the loud and unmistakable sounds of sex, which are getting louder and more unmistakable by the minute. "You don't think he's pulled Brian Molko?"

"Not unless Brian is a woman," says Aramis with a yawn.

Porthos looks at his watch. "It's nine thirty. Who, except you, has that much violent sex at nine thirty?"

"Someone who's been been having it since two in the morning." Aramis yawns again and takes a sip of sweet, thick espresso. "You're lucky. Your bedroom's in the extension."

"Jeezus," says Porthos, turning on the telly and hoping that Jeremy Kyle and his pack of baying morons will drown out the noise.

An hour later, there's a knock at the door and Porthos opens it to discover an attractive woman wearing Katherine Hepburn trousers, a crisp white shirt and brogues. Her short blonde hair is gelled back and she's unadorned. Her demeanour is, if anything, more striking than her appearance. "Hello," she says, eyeing him up and down appreciatively. "You must be Porthos. I'd like my coffee pot back, if it's not too much trouble."

Porthos stares at her blankly for a moment and then he regains his senses. "Come in," he says politely. "I only just made some so I'll have to rinse it out for you."

She follows him into the kitchen, appropriating the place, much like Athos had done, and for one horrifying second Porthos wonders if they're related. She's older, but too young to be his mother, surely. Byronic perhaps?

"Pour me a cup, there’s a love,” says the woman. “I’m dying here.”

Porthos does as he’s told, handing her a quarter filled mug and watching as she boils the kettle and tops it up with water. 

“Give the pot a swish out.” She looks at Aramis, who's standing in the doorway with his mouth agape. “Morning, M d'Herblay.”

Surely his lovers aren’t sharing _another_ lover, thinks Porthos. Even if she’s not actually Athos’ mother, this is all getting a bit incestuous.

“Morning, Professor de Larroque,” Aramis stammers. 

She wanders through to the living room, picking up yesterday's Guardian from a side table, with Porthos and Aramis following at a discreet enough distance that allows them a whispered conversation on the way.

"You haven't been banging your Professor?" asks Porthos, who's getting muddled up.

"No." Aramis gives him a look. "She's been lecturing me on gender studies. Someone _else_ is banging her."

"This coffee is fantastic," calls Professor de Larroque. "It tastes like Christmas."

Porthos swells with pride. He'd actually been trying for the Middle East again, with dried rose petals and cinnamon, but Christmas is a compliment.

"You're lucky," says Aramis, sitting next to her. "You missed his experiments with cumin and mint. It’s like potions class in the kitchen some days."

The professor smiles. "I'm very glad I escaped that, by the sound of it." She looks at them both in turn. "Now, I can tell from all the shuffling and mumbling that you have some questions for me. Please ask away and be direct. I prefer that."

Aramis is clearly uncomfortable, but Porthos does have questions: some big ones at that.

"You're sleeping with Athos, but he told us he doesn't have sex."

The professor raises an eyebrow. "And yet you're sleeping with him too." Round one goes to her and she knows it, but then she relents. "Unless he's been leading me up the garden path for a year, I presume the sex you have with him is also unorthodox."

"There hasn't been much of it so far," admits Porthos. "But, yeah, he's not your average fuck."

The woman laughs and Aramis jumps in with a question. "How did you two get together?"

She cocks her head to one side and stares at Aramis as if he's a ripe cherry ready to be plucked from the tree. "I was terribly well behaved. I waited until graduation to ask him out. He tried to wriggle out of it politely, bless his heart. He told me he didn't do relationships and, well, I don't either, so when I wouldn't take no for an answer, he took me on a date to the Body Worlds exhibition. As if posed plasticised corpses would put me off a man."

Porthos cracks up, because this is a perfect example of how Athos' convoluted mind works.

"Afterwards," the professor continues, "when we were drunk and I attempted to seduce him, he tried his best to escape my clutches." She smiles fondly. "But he was crying out for attention, and so we spent the best part of the weekend talking about our issues, and an even better part of it exploring them. As we have done ever since." 

"And those issues are?" Aramis leans forward in anticipation of the big reveal.

"None of your business," says Professor de Larroque, getting up from the sofa. "Look after mon petit it-boy en sucre for me. Take him a coffee. He'll be in need of rehydration. No need to show me out."

After she leaves, Aramis scratches his head and stares at Porthos. "Every day of living downstairs from Athos, I become more normal in my own eyes."

"Don't worry," chuckles Porthos. "It's just you."

"Fuck off." Aramis lobs Jeanette Winterson at him. "What do we do now?"

"Take him up a coffee like the lady suggested," says Porthos. "He can have it Americano though, because I'm not making another bloody lot."

The door is open, but this time they don't hesitate to go in. The room is covered in the detritus of a night spent fucking and Porthos doesn't look at the mess too closely. It seems a bit personal when he hasn't been involved in the sex.

Aramis isn’t as squeamish. He pinches Athos until he squirms and rolls over, stretching and looking up at him owlishly. 

“Where’s Ninon?” he yawns.

“Gone,” says Aramis “She asked us to bring you room service and so, like good little boys, we have done.” He points to the coffee mug. “Do you want us to do some housekeeping too?”

Athos sits up, looking around him at the mess and clearly flustered by it. He gazes at them both with wide eyes that are smeared, as always, with kohl. There’s a hint more colour to his face than usual and Porthos is all too aware of his discomfort. He’s sharing it equally.

A gale is blowing from above and Porthos climbs the iron staircase, ducking to get into the tiny attic room, in order to find the source of the cold air.

He discovers the strangest space ever. It contains a stove, a sink and a miniature fridge, whilst hidden in an alcove is a curtained off bathroom. The draught is coming from a slimline door that leads out onto the smallest terrace in London. It has a view and a half though and Porthos stands at the rail for long while, looking out at the rooftops. Chim chimney chim chim.

Closing the door, he comes downstairs to find Athos sitting up in bed drinking his coffee with Aramis naked beside him. He must be naked; his clothes are strewn about the floor as if he was in a hurry to dive between the sheets and Porthos frowns, a sliver of upset jabbing at him. Is he being excluded?

“Hurry up,” says Aramis, refuting this immediately. “Get your skivvies off and jump in next to me. Precious boy, here, says he’ll tell us all about his issues if we have a fuck while he’s doing so.”

Porthos is baffled, because who, in either their right _or_ their wrong mind, would use that as a bargaining chip? Nevertheless, he slithers out of his clothes and slides into bed. “Budge up then.”

Aramis is already hard under the covers, a hand stroking lazily over his cock and when Porthos takes over from him, he lets out a loud exclamation. “Shit! Porthos you’re fucking freezing.”

“Sorry,” Porthos grins. “You’ll get used to it.” He looks across at Athos, who’s completely oblivious, to life perhaps, sitting here in a daze and sipping at his drink. “And you? What do you get out of this? Are you just a voyeur?”

Athos shakes his head vehemently. “No. At least I never used to be.” He puts his mug down and looks thoughtful. “I don’t know. It feels right. It comforts me.”

“Kiss,” demands Porthos, leaning over to him, the cockles of his heart thoroughly warmed.

“No.” Athos shakes his head again.

“Nothing heavy,” says Porthos. “I promise.”

When it happens, it’s just another dry press of lips, but this time it’s intended and Porthos can almost hear the clicks and whirs of a complex mechanical lock as it begins to turn anticlockwise.

“Do I get one too?” asks Aramis, from beneath them, and Porthos is equally as thrilled to see Aramis receive the same show of affection from Athos.

“How do you want us to fuck?” asks Porthos. He’d like to start off with some soixante-neuf, but it’s not up to him, and he thinks that might be too mouth intense for Athos. Plus, it never looks as good as it feels.

“Facing each other,” says Athos. “I like to watch you kiss.”

Porthos can hear a hint of melancholy in those words, and he wants nothing more than to pull them all into a messy three way snog. One day it’ll happen. He knows it without doubt. They’ve been put here on this earth for each other.

Clambering astride Aramis, he’s shocked to discover the man is ready prepped with a dildo inside him, his heel pulled up high to keep it wedged there. No wonder he’s been so fidgety. “You are a little minx,” he says, sliding the toy in and out of Aramis’ arse.

It turns out to be a vibrator and, with a flick of the switch, Porthos snorts with laughter at the expression on Aramis’ face.

“No, no. No! Get it out and put your cock inside me,” Aramis begs. “I don’t want to come too quick.”

“Thanks a lot,” says Porthos.

“You know what I mean,” says Aramis with a smirk.

Condom on, Porthos shunts home and looks across to the other member of their threesome, hoping to find him engaged in this. Instead, he’s curled facing them with his eyes closed.

“No. Not happening, pretty boy,” says Aramis, pecking him on the cheek. “This is for you, remember? Part of our deal.”

Athos stares at them. “Kiss each other then,” he demands and Porthos is only too happy to comply.

He ducks down and takes Aramis’ mouth hard, the slip of his tongue in perfect synchronicity with the thrust of his cock. Aramis tastes of sunshine and sex. He fills Porthos with a warmth that is all encompassing. When he’s with Aramis, _in_ Aramis, it’s almost impossible to think of anything else. Except when Athos is there next to them. “Come on then, babe,” he growls. “Keep your promise. Explain your kind of asexual to us.”

Athos cuddles in closer and Aramis hooks an arm around him, petting his hair. “I never said I was ace. I don’t think I am. I’m not sure what I am.”

Porthos fucks Aramis slowly, carefully, keeping them both at a low burn. This isn’t about them. “Go on.”

“Some days I’m happy with my cock.” Athos pauses and Porthos can see him gnaw thoughtfully at his lip. “But other times I want nothing more than to have a cunt and breasts. It’s not about being a girl or a boy. It’s about who _I_ am and Ninon helps me learn how to cope with that.”

Porthos doesn’t totally comprehend the feeling--he’s never had vagina envy--but he has often enjoyed the idea of playing with his own full breasts. He’d never want rid of his cock though. He takes a moment to enjoy the sensation of being inside Aramis and it’s so good it almost tips him over the edge. He heaves in a slow breath.

Aramis steadies him with a hand to his cheek and a look. “How does Ninon help you?” he asks Athos.

“She lets me touch her as if her body belongs to me. I like that, pretending that her cunt is mine. Sometimes I fuck her. I like having my cock inside her. Mostly though we genderswap and she fucks me as if I’m her girl. Straight, lesbian, gay? I don’t know, it’s everything. It's all mixed up. I'm mixed up.” He’s wary, but okay and Porthos is bloody proud of him. “She helps me try and unravel myself,” he continues. “I can’t really explain any better than that.”

“I think I understand.” Porthos had seen the strap on and the double ender earlier and didn’t think too much of it, but now he’s imagining Athos and Ninon in this bed together and he’s in a spin. This isn’t supposed to be about him getting off on it, but he can’t help it. “Baby, there’s nothing wrong with any of that.” His voice is gruff and thick with desire. Aramis’ legs lift and lock around him. “You know you can be anything you need to, with us as well as Ninon.“

Aramis’ eyes flash with need. “Yes, anything, everything,” he says and then he’s gone, his come splashing hot between them. “We’d love that,” he says honestly, reaching out to Athos.

Porthos, tries to hold back, but he can’t and is lost to his orgasm, seated in deep, grinding against Aramis. He wants Athos to be _with_ them. He hates the fact that they aren’t quite there yet. “Next time you're ours,” he murmurs and is ridiculously happy when Athos gifts him with an unsolicited kiss.


End file.
